Work Text:
“No,” is the first word on Derek’s lips when he steps out of the truck.
Absolutely fucking not, would be next, had Stiles’ jeep not cut him off with a pitiful attempt of a beep.
“Du-ude,” He hears Stiles exclaim from the other end of the yard, one of two figures in the garage. Eli is the other.
“I fixed it?”
“Hell yeah, you did,” Stiles drums his hands on the side of the jeep as the engine churns away. “Boy-genius type shit, man. You’re, like, Sparkplug Witwicky Jr.”
Eli cackles, “My dad is not that good with cars.”
He watches Stiles’s head tilt. “Oh, that’s why you didn’t know what a catalytic converter was ‘til today. God forbid the youths are taught real American values.”
Derek has a hard time not laughing at that. A smile battles it’s way onto his face. He’s not wrong. Derek does run the shop, and it's, admittedly, been a couple years since he last had his hands on a car.
But Stiles definitely has no clue what one is either, considering he lugged that piece of shit over from his place a month ago, pleading with Derek for help restoring it. Again.
If it were up to him, he would’ve left it behind in some scrapyard a decade ago.
“Well, Google did.” Eli shrugs, “So, I can drive it, right?”
“No,” Derek growls at the same time as Stiles, making his presence known. He’d been undetected by Eli, at least, who jumps despite having superhuman senses. He hits his head on the open bonnett. His eyes glow yellow for a moment as he steps back.
“ Jesus ,” Stiles squeezes the bridge between his eyebrows, nods a wince in Derek’s direction. “Hey, man.”
“Hi,” Derek repeats, slower, “What’s this? Other than.. you trying to kill my child.”
Stiles squints at him. Even goes so far as to tap his foot. “I know they say that humour is subjective, and I appreciate that it's taken you, like, so many years to develop a semblance of appropriate social skills, but my god. Shut up. Oh, and also, he totally fixed the jeep, so.”
“With Stiles’ help!” Eli cuts in, the pink mark at his hairline already healing. Derek focuses on it anyway, turning his chin to catch the sunlight. He knows it’s going to disappear.
“Minimal,” Stiles nods, gaze stuttering between the two of them. He gestures vaguely in the air between himself and Eli before making for the toolkit. “Dream team, we are.”
Derek bites his cheek, “I’m sure.”
Stiles scoots around him, grabbing a couple screwdrivers. “How was ye olde autoshop?”
God, he’s ridiculous.
“Fine, Malia’s staying late. So, this piece of junk is fixed?”
“He-ey, no badmouthing my girl,” Stiles frowns, pointing a finger in his face and making Derek cross-eyed, “But yes. Thanks to Eli’s genius.”
“I am that. A genius,” Eli nods in mirth with all the confidence in the world. Derek’s heart soars.
“That is true,” Derek huffs a laugh, “Does this mean you’re gonna haul this junk out of my garage now?”
“Ha, no,” Stiles glares, “I can’t move her yet.”
Derek sighs, “Why not?”
“Tire’s popped, dad,” Eli rolls his eyes, pushing beside Stiles to toe at the front tire.
“Apparently keeping a fifteen-year-old rundown jeep in a garage full of building materials might have been a bad idea on my part, but-“
Derek clears his throat. “I don’t think it’ll even survive a tire refitting, Stiles. Look at it.”
Stiles pointedly looks between Derek and the jeep, head tilted.
“It's the last thing she needs. The very last.”
Derek crosses his arms.
“Please?”
Eli and Stiles look at him with very contrasting expressions. Eli, with pleading, wide eyes and an impatient pout. Stiles glares, brows furrowed.
“The last thing, and then I want it off my land.”
For the first time in two years, something in his mind supplies. Almost as long as they’ve been rebuilding the house and Stiles moved back to Beacon Hills. Why the fuck has he allowed it here so long?
“As if you could tell me no,” Stiles says, a grin forming on his face as he walks by. He brushes Derek’s shoulder. “Lunch? I got ciabattas from Toby’s place again, you know the one by the clinic?”
“Sure,” Derek hears Eli say with one, resolute look back at the jeep. He smiles to himself, small and genuine, “Thanks, dad.”
Derek nods, a little dazed, as Eli calls out to Stiles with, “You get any of those fries too?”
Okay.
This is normal, friendly behaviour. It's normal for Derek and Stiles to have a deli they pick up food from. Because they see each other so often. As friends do. Friends who let the other work on their shitty car with substantial meaning to them in their garage.
Stiles had just assumed he wanted lunch. Didn’t even ask. Which, yeah , he did. He loved Toby’s stuff.
But.
As if you could tell me no.
Friends, good friends. That’s what they are.
Except he can’t stop thinking about it.
It's maybe a week later when the jeep’s tire gets fixed.
Derek’s just about done with folding up Eli’s lacrosse uniform when the door slams open.
He would panic, normally. Hell, his hackles would’ve been raised at so much of a raised heartbeat halfway down the street. He considered himself a much more calm person now, but still.
“Oh my god,” is what greets him, followed by a clang of metal on wood, and “Dude, you literally have alpha werewolf strength - oh my God - please fucking help me?”
Stiles stands, hands on his knees, breathing hard. Below him is a tire.
Derek abandons the clothes on the island for Stiles. “Where the hell’d you get this?”
“A fitter delivered it,” Stiles pants, choking on a breathy cough.
“And didn’t fit it?” Derek’s mouth twitches as he crouches to lift it. “Not a very good one then, is he?”
“Dude, quit it with the dad jokes, you’re not 40, holy shit,” Stiles winces. Says, mostly to himself, Derek assumes, “Oh, Jesus, my side.. yep, definitely pulled something.”
Already moving, Derek says, “Want it in the garage?”
“Could you please,” Stiles grins with a pained wheeze. Derek feigns an accidental brush of his wrist, takes some of that pain away. “He didn’t come and fit it ‘cause I asked him not to.”
Derek pauses ahead of him entirely. “What?”
“I just thought, like,” Stiles gives a noise of frustration, shuffling in place, “It didn’t feel right, I guess.”
“Mm,” Derek nods, unsure where he’s going with this. Not exactly new territory here.
“She’s been here for years with you now, and I know it started as me trying to protect and revive my youth every now and again when I came back from DC, type thing. But, y’know.”
He doesn’t know, really. He might have an inkling. He wants it to be right. Derek stops, lifts the tire to one hand to rest at his hip.
“Then Eli started to help out a couple months ago, and… yeah. I think that it became our thing, somehow? Don’t you think?”
“Like.. you and Eli?”
“Like, all of us, dude, c’mon,” Stiles nudges his arm. “It's your house.”
“I haven’t touched the jeep,” Derek says, because he’s got a serious cause of foot in mouth disease around Stiles lately, somehow.
“Derek,” Stiles’ eyes widen, and he steps forward. It's hard, now, to remember how awkward he’d been around Derek years ago. Now, he’s realising, they orbit each other without thought. “My man, you tolerate the jeep. And that’s more enough for me.”
Derek smiles, “Yeah, I guess it's not so bad. The jeep, I mean. I don’t know, I guess I’ve warmed to it.”
Stiles bites his lip, blinking hard. “Yeah. And, I guess, it's probably stupid, but I guess that’s why I just don’t want some random guy fixing the last thing she needs ‘cause then she’s just, like, gone and out of our hands.”
Derek blanks. Did.. did Stiles seriously think…
“Stiles.. we’re still gonna be here after the car’s fixed. You get that, right?”
“Yeah, I know. I know that, I just. I don’t know, you know?”
“Right,” Derek comprehends that for a second, “Just quit overthinking this. We’ll get it fixed.”
“Yeah?” Stiles smiles, wide and earnest, “Hell fucking yeah, we’re going to, man.”
“Right,” Derek repeats, smiling wide despite himself, and lifting the tire again in hand.
They’re still out there in the garage when Eli gets home.
The tire had gone on easy. Ridiculously easy, actually, considering how impossibly awful the rest of the rusted piece of shit’s improvements came.
It’s just. It's just that he’d noticed the driver-side door was a little stiff. And the window had been a little dirty. Another few easy fixes, no problem. But he couldn’t really stop himself. And Stiles had been fascinated, willing to help, although he mostly talked Derek’s ear off.
Begrudgingly, he could admit to himself that it was fun.
He only knew it was the end of the day when he heard the door swing open from the house.
“Hi,” Derek stands from where he’d been crouched at the car’s lower door hinge.
“Hey,” Eli grins, breathless, shouldering his bag as his gaze skitters between them. “What’s going on?”
“Your dad’s been educating me about the upkeep of the brackets,” And yeah, Stiles is definitely goading him, but he sounds genuine too. Softer in tone. His heart’s pretty steady too. “I’m gonna need a replacement at the front.”
“Oh,” Eli lets his bag fall to the floor. He edges forward, “You want any help, old man?“
Derek blinks, face red. Chest fluttering with warmth, uncomfortable and unfamiliar. All these years behind the desk, he’d forgotten why he’d started the shop in the first place. ‘Cause he loved it. And Eli did too.
Hell, he’s pretty sure the jeep’s Stiles’ most prized possession and he knows Noah bought him a signed Phantom Menace script for his 25th.
“Yeah,” Derek rubs his hands on his pants. “You wanna help Stiles with the back bracket?”
“Hell yes,” Eli trips over himself to make his way over to them both. He slaps a hand on Stiles’ arm to steady himself, and whispers to him, “Thanks.”
Stiles just dips his head.
For what?
The bracket arrives a couple days later.
Stiles is half-asleep and definitely nursing a decent food coma, head slowly slipping from where it leans against his forearm. Eli’s unaware, or, most likely, uncaring, ranting away about Coach Finstock while Jeff Goldblum explains satellite disruption to Bill Pullman.
“Y’know,” Derek says around his third egg roll, “My coach wouldn’t even let me play on the team ‘til sophomore year.”
“At least you got to play! Do you know how embarrassing it is, having you come to watch me sit like a loser on the bench every single week? Oh, don’t answer, ‘cause it's humiliating.”
“Hey, you’ll get your chance, I know it,” Derek says, knowing it to be true, just like he knows Eli’s favourite colour and the flowery shampoo he pretends not to own.
“Exactly,” Stiles contributes helpfully, wincing with a hand on his stomach, “I’m never eating Chinese again.”
Eli snorts, “What, so you’re never coming over again?”
Stiles squints, “Shut it, nerd. You’re really not as funny as you think.”
“From the mouth of the biggest Lord of the Rings fan in Beacon County, sure,” Eli chortles, “Dad, did he ever play?”
Derek presses his lips together to refrain from laughing, “Yeah. Occasionally.”
“Uh, it was at least 65-35 by junior year, thank you,” Stiles squirms in his seat, sitting up, “Actually, I scored the winning goal once.”
That has Eli straightening up, “Really?”
“Try and sound more shocked, I dare you,” Stiles falls back against the couch, his arm stretched out over the back. “I was playing on a technicality because half the team were, like, dead or missing. Sucks, sure, but I got the winning goal so, y’know. Goes to show. Maybe your talent’s just gotta remain untapped for yet another year.”
“Oh, that’s. Okay.” Eli goes back to chewing for a second, blinking rapidly, before turning back to Derek. “Sometimes I don’t get how you guys work. Then sometimes I really, really do.”
Stiles snorts at that. Stretches his legs out and nudges his socked toes under Derek’s legs. “Yeah. We’ve always been the bestest of best buds, right, Derek?”
“Obviously,” Derek says, clears his throat because it's dry, and his body is all fluttery and warm again. Seriously, what the hell.
He doesn’t do this. And if he did, it wouldn’t be Stiles. So what the hell was his deal? It's because he’s so good with Eli, that’s gotta be it.
Nobody else gels with him remotely as well.
Yeah, that’s it.
It's when he’s pondering.. that.. that the door goes.
Eli shoots up, rice falling from his frame, to answer it.
“Woah,” Stiles makes a noise of interest as Eli opens the door wider at the same time Derek says, “Hang on-“
Derek sits up at the same time, cranes his neck and finds Noah at the door.
“-Dad?”
“Son,” Noah says, like he’s not surprised at all to see him here. He supposes, if he thinks about it, Stiles is over a lot.
“What’s.. this is for my girl?”
“Parrish’s brother works with parts out in L.A,” Derek informs. “He gave me fifteen off on a new bumper.”
“Oh,” He hears Stiles mumble, uncharacteristically quiet. He watches him sit forward the corner of his vision. “Derek, you didn’t have to..”
“I did,” Derek says, uncomfortable. “It's nothing.”
“I was heading this way anyway. There was an accident on Main.”
Derek hears two heartbeats spike at that. He decides to take the car part from him, resting it against the hall wall.
“Are you okay?” Eli asks, looking Noah all over.
“Yeah, kid, I had nothing to do with it,” Noah huffs a laugh, “You’re almost as bad as him.”
Stiles guffaws, “Oh, yeah, worrying about your health and wellbeing is a negative trait of mine. Don’t mind me. You’re so right.”
“Everything was fine, that goes for both of you,” Noah reiterates, mouth twitching as he looks over at Derek, encouraging Derek to share his amusement. “How’s the jeep coming along?”
“Slightly less glacial, thanks to you,” Derek nods his head at the part. “Thank you, Noah.”
“Don’t need to thank me, son. Although, I still do not understand why it's here. You know you can tell him no, don’t you?”
“I can’t,” Derek answers honestly, and watches Noah take in the room. The takeout on the island. The tray of curly fries between the two of them. He sees him take in Stiles’ shoes beside Eli’s on the shoe rack.
And Stiles beside Derek, feet under Derek’s legs.
“Right.” Noah scratches his head, “Right, well. If I’m interrupting then I’ll just be...”
“No!” Stiles throws a hand out, tone panicked, “Stay. He can stay, right? No interruptions here. Plenty of healthy alternatives for ol’ pops here. The lettuce is on the verge of rotting.”
“Christ,” Noah mutters. “Would you be okay with that, Derek?”
He wishes the ground would swallow him up whole. Right here, him and the couch.
Still, he nods. “Yeah, of course. Help yourself, we, uh, ordered way too much.”
“Stiles ordered way too much,” Eli rolls his eyes. “Again.”
Noah shuffles his hands. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve got Melissa’s lasagne from yesterday waiting for me, but I do appreciate the gesture, boys.”
“Okay,” Eli claps his hands together, and gestures to the door still very much ajar behind Noah, “Whatever. Great seeing you, dude.”
“Eli,” Derek hisses as Noah gives a hearty laugh.
“No, no, it's okay. Just remember that if you hotwire that thing again, I’ll be the first to know.”
“Sure, you will,” Eli nods, “Later, Sheriff.”
“You realise I’ll kill you if you do,” Derek says when Noah’s left and Eli’s clicked the door shut.
“Not before I do,” Stiles insists, voice scarily even and low, before he wiggles his toes below Derek’s legs. Derek turns his head to glare, and finds Stiles already watching him.
“Uh, Eli?”
“Yessir,” Eli pauses on his way to the kitchen.
“You wanna take the brackett out to the garage since you’re already up?”
“Are you fucking kidding,” He grumbles to himself, “Yeah, sure, whatever. Have a weird stare off while I’m not here that results in nothing, I get it.”
Stiles snorts, chin dipping in a smile.
Eli hobbles by, making a big show of lifting it. Derek feels bad for half a second before remembering it weighs nothing to Eli.
“You really didn’t have to do that.”
Derek’s floored by the soft nature of Stiles’ voice, then. He’s so accustomed to the sarcasm, even to his more serious moments. The ones nobody else seems to notice: Stiles withdrawing in on himself, going quiet, more serious. Zoning out. He knows because he does the same, sometimes. Even now.
But.
Stiles blinks at him, honey-brown eyes wide and set on Derek. Unmoving, undistracted.
“I did.”
“Derek,” Stiles says, something in it; a soft command, “Let me pay you back for it.”
Derek shakes his head, eyes falling to Stiles playing with his hands. “It was nothing. It's just a dumb car, Stiles.”
“It's not, though,” Stiles insists, and he can hear his heart jump as he speaks, “It's you being too generous for your own good.”
“It didn’t cost that much. Parrish-“
“I don’t care about the cost, man, fuck,” Stiles lets out an incredulous, short laugh, “It's.. you let me keep it here. You fixed it up while I was in DC. You buy parts for me.”
Derek swallows hard, “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause..” He comes up short. How could he explain? Bantering off of each other is one thing, natural to the both of them. This? This is different. It's real. It scares the shit out of him. “Stiles, I just.”
“This is new, you lost for words ‘cause of me in a good way,” Stiles says gently, a teasing lilt, and shuffles close. He stares, for a moment, and Derek can’t breathe. He lets his forehead fall on Derek’s shoulder, and breathes out. “I’m just trying to thank you.”
“Might’ve been easier to just say the words,” Derek can feel his own heart pounding. He wonders if Stiles can hear it. He might be human, but he’s freakishly attuned to himself and Eli.
“When have you ever known me to go about something the easy way,” Stiles’ head turns, and he looks up at Derek with mirth. He can’t focus. He’s a werewolf, a true alpha, and he’s incapacitated. Frozen. He’s so beautiful.
“You’re right,” Derek says. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, lax and useless in his lap.
“Good talk then,” Stiles smiles, breath warm on Derek’s shoulder, separated from his skin by a thin layer of cotton.
Derek brings a hand up, gingerly, and places it between Stiles’ shoulder blades. He feels his muscle jump, hears the subtle intake of breath. His fingers curl in the material of Stiles’ plaid shirt. It's not as grounding as he imagined it would be.
Stiles hums, “Eli hasn’t run off, has he?”
“He’s messing with the jeep at the edge of the lot.”
Stiles huffs a laugh, eyes crinkling. Derek’s stomach flips.
“Cool.”
Derek squeezes his eyes shut. He can hear Stiles’ swallow. His short breaths, the pounding of his heart. He can feel his nerves. They make him even more jittery.
“It's okay,” Stiles whispers, fingers climbing Derek’s chest, his collar, his jaw. His hand cups Derek’s left cheek, and Derek shudders. Stiles smiles with a brush of his lips to the right cheek. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, of course,” Derek says uselessly, hand curling tighter in Stiles’ shirt. Stiles hovers by him, his own hand shaking at Derek’s jaw. Derek turns his head a little, just enough that all plausible deniability is out the window.
It's so chaste that there’s barely anything at all beyond a brush of mouths, making Derek feel like he’s floating. Stiles’ eyes flit up to his again, blown and warm and.. And home.
Stiles is the one to do it. He opens up, hand twitching, and pulls Derek into a kiss. They’re soft and gentle on Derek’s own, so much different to what he’d been dreaming about for so long.
Derek kisses back. Lets himself; parts his lips and lets Stiles in.
It's perfect. God, it has him trembling, and.
And there’s footsteps stomping across the yard.
Derek leans back, noses at Stiles’ cheek. Stiles makes a noncommittal noise, “Is everything okay?”
“Really, really okay,” Derek whispers, lips tingling, “Eli’s coming back inside in about twenty seconds.”
“I fucking hate your kid,” Stiles gives a drawn-out sigh, and Derek laughs, giddy. Cups his face and pulls him into another, quick kiss. Stiles grins against his mouth.
He doesn’t need to hear Stiles’ heartbeat to know he’s lying.
“So, this means we’re keeping the jeep, right?”
”Oh my god, Eli, really?”